Tuesday 2 December 2014
We have spent the whole week at the edge of tears, Sig. A week of gritted teeth, immersed in the festering wound that is Ferguson. It has provoked us to dig deep into our past and search for remembrances. Remembrances of the beautiful black faces of Missus Miller and Bill, family for the first five years of our life. They nurtured. Gave succor. Treated us with great kindness. Over time we became a son and grandson to them. Their ‘pretty little white boy.’
Through years of military service, we lived, worked, shared dangers, and bonded in deep friendships with men of African descent, and never found them lacking. God Sig, with passing time, this country has turned despicable, fighting its perpetual war for racial hegemony. Warring to usurp the humanity of so many, including the Millers, our beloved family. Wish we could make some small sense of it. It is like sitting on a sharp stone. There is no comfort to be had. We are shamed by it, knowing if we reach back far enough in our ancestry, we will look upon the coal black faces of our earliest ancestors, and they will look back at us with curious human eyes. They are family. The beginnings of the long chain that led to us. Yet many will deny it. Somehow, much of white America has come to think itself as exceptional. Who can hold that concept close to their heart knowing this country and its history of human bondage, that today, continues its insidious hold over many? American exceptionalism—indeed. Racism is the coming darkness. A cloak of hatred, growing in dissonance.
What then must we do? How can we give thanks in this environment, or live without growing bitter? A deeper understanding does not help, it seems. Perhaps we should narrow our focus. Screen out all that is unpleasant. Live like a virgin. Meander. Seek nothing more than basic existence. Is that even possible? No, it is not. Instead, we must do all we can. We must always do all we can. That is our duty. Our sacred obligation.
We have to keep the faith, Bro. Always,
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